


to bone

by plsnskanks (orphan_account)



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 13:17:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15950144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/plsnskanks
Summary: cont ofhttps://archiveofourown.org/works/10926702/chapters/24304146





	to bone

They put him in solitary.

He does okay with it for a bit. It’s four walls of grey, a meal each day through a slot that provides nothing else. No noises from other prisoners, no human contact, no visual anyone or anything. Just his own thoughts and sensory input.

Admittedly, it starts to fuck with him after a while. He feels like he is going crazy from the monotony, he feels his limbs cramp up randomly for no apparent reason. Then he starts to feel real actual bonified cramps. And the panic sets in. It comes in waves as he feels the walls pushing in on him and the word “out” playing on repeat in his head, a distant goal he has no idea how to attain.

He immediately tries to signal something is wrong by refusing to touch his food. He turns back his breakfast, his lunch, his dinner. It worsens his cramps but if that is the long game for getting some sort of attention he will do it.

He doubts, or rather knows inherently that Pat and Paul are not going to somehow come to his rescue this time. He may as well be sitting dead face down in the water for all they want to do with him

Tom scrunches his eyes shut in frustration.

Shit.

How did he screw this sideways so bad, what was it, three times? The plan was easy, use his body to get himself out of his cell, take advantage of the situation either pre or post coitus when he found the opening, then get the hell out.

And he had managed to get through everything he planned only to fuck it up in the homestretch three separate times. And now here he was, absolutely devoid of leverage, hanging by a thread, basically waiting around for Tord to come strolling in offering him some devils bargain that wasn’t going to be worth it.

It was never worth it. 

But Tord was always the sort to lay in wait for the right time to pick the fruit of desperation as it hung ripe and full and ready to drop.

Tom wants to cave the second day but he refuses. Skipping meals is hard. Skipping meals while in pain and low on sleep is excruciating and Tom is nothing if not a hedonist at heart. But he wants out more than he wants to eat.

Finally, after the fifth skipped meal finding himself wracked with hunger and heat pains, the door opens and he is greeted with the stern face of a young black haired soldier.

The man smells like an alpha and Tom wants to press himself all over him and beg him for some sort of attention or praise or a fuck on the dirty floor of his confinement room. But he isn’t that far gone and he get the idea the soldier would rather beat him bloody into the ground. So he follows the man as he leads him through winding passages in the labyrinth that is Tord’s base.

They end up in front of a door that Tom recognizes even though the last time he saw it he was half as coherent. His stomach feels like it drops to the floor out his rectum.

The door is opened but Tom doesn’t go in. The soldier has to come around back and knock the butt of his gun into Tom’s back with a rather unnecessary amount of force. Tom stumbles forward into the room.

He immediately pales as he catches sight of Tord at his desk. Not just Tord. God he wishes for once that it was just Tord, that it was him alone in the room with Tord. But no, instead Pat and Paul are stationed on either side of his desk and Pat looks pleased which Tom instinctually knows is never a good thing when his personal safety is involved.

Paul’s throat looks largely healed. A few light bruises linger but they look more like hickies than an attempt at being strangled gone awry.

He is genuinely sorry for that. Sorry he didn’t strangle Pat instead. Lord knows he was the real menace of the two. He doesn’t think Paul has that specific psychotic strain in him that surfaces in Pat’s features every now and then.

Tom finds himself struggling to balance himself on his feet. Frankly between his heat, the lack of food and the amount of stress being in this room is giving him he feels about ready to pass out.

“Reports tell me that you have been refusing meals,” Tord said, smile plastered to his face. Tom did not like that. He could sense the eagerness radiating off Tord and he knew, no matter what, he had to make it out of this room without feeding into any trap Tord had laid down.

Yeah. Right. He knew a catch twenty-two when he saw one and this was it if there ever was one. So, he guessed it would just be a matter of taking the least damaging route.

This was bad. How had it gotten this bad? A trickle of sweat rolls down the side of his face and Tom realizes that he has full body tremors that are out of his control. He sucks in his breath through his mouth, the cool air bringing his nerves down out of orbit hair by hair.

“I did.”

Tord leans over his desk a little, eyes lowering.

“Is there a reason for that?”

Now some might say, half starved and in heat, with zero leverage, now is not the time to be indignant. And Tom would say “You’re right”. But he does it anyways.

Tom stares at Tord sullenly without response.

Tord merely shuffles his papers.

“Honestly at this rate I have no idea how to proceed, looking at your file, you’ve been a very troublesome prisoner. Three self-inflicted medical incidents, two assaults of Red Army personnel, the cause of a base wide shut down. Tell me Tom, what should we do to you?”

Tom tries not to shudder at his choice of words and the low rasp in Tord’s voice that is a tone he is all too acquainted with. Memories of the past are dredging themselves up like dead bodies rising from the murky depths of the swamp of his subconscious. Unwanted and rotting. Tom winces as flashbacks, memories of them, they used to-

This is not helping him and he knows Tord can smell it in the air. There’s a shift in his features that tells him he can taste the sudden tang  
.  
“You could let me go,” Tom said. Another trickle of sweat. Damn. He is trying to hold his cool but he knows he can try all he wants the situation is apparent and as violent as he can get he did not fail to catch the batons and cans of what he can only assume is some kind of tear or vomiting agent on both Pat and Paul’s belts.

He would like to punch Tord in the throat but he is pretty sure it’s not worth being maced. Probably. He’ll have to reevaluate after the next five minutes.

“I could, but after all the trouble you caused? I think some reparations are in order.”

Tom looks at him haughtily, “Maybe if your men could handle themselves, there wouldn’t have been any issues.”

Tord is unruffled. “That’s true, but they didn’t and yet here you still are.”

“I want to get out,” Tom said. The statement is plain and bland and the fire behind it is dimming and Tom can sense the shifting tide of his emotions and body as he feels exhaustion slipping in. His limbs feel like iron weights sagging down towards the ground.

Tord laughs, he stands up and clears his desk coming up to Tom. His scent pervades Tom’s senses and he would step back if his pride wasn’t firmly holding him in place having him stare Tord down.

“I don’t think you earnestly want that,” Tord starts to crowd his personal space and Tom feels like someone put his brain on a channel that is playing white static. He puts a hand up and he thinks it is initially intended to stop Tord from getting closer but it ends up more with him feeling Tord up.

“Yeah?” Tom asks dazedly. He finds himself being cradled in Tord’s arms and distantly a voice in his head is saying he should not being doing this a sort of “No” on repeat somewhere in the background. But his frame of reference for good and bad has been shattered and he’s left relying on his emotions over logic and his emotions right now are telling him a lot of things.

Tord being near him again? Good. The warmth he can feel radiating even through Tord’s jacket? Also good. The smell and the feel of Tord’s body. Good. So good. Without a doubt, unquestionably good.

He wants to slide his hands under his jacket and feel up his body and have Tord. He feels a hand under his chin tilting his face out to look dazedly at Pat.

“Not so hard to handle now, is he?” Tord smiles. “Although I admit I have a fair bit of an advantage as our past dealings are long and many.”

He pushes Tom back onto the desk until Tom is sitting and his legs are dangling off the edge. Tord pulls down his pants and with them his boxers revealing a flush and dripping cunt and a stiff cock. Tord pushes in two fingers and watches Tom’s expression shift from one of tense anticipation to one of pleasure. He starts to scissor him as he pulls Tom closer to get a good whiff of his neck.

He pulls back and sees the ghost of Tom’s bonding scar. He wants to nip it or lick it or something but he figures he can wait for later. Instead he pulls Tom in for a kiss.

Tom kisses back greedily and Tord removes his fingers to pull Tom flush against him as he gropes his ass. He starts to rub himself into Tom grinding against him roughly until Tom is a panting mess, looking at him with wide pleading eyes.

Tord unzips his pants and takes out his cock, he rubs himself at Toms entrance, teasing it as Tom starts to babble incoherently.

“Ah that won’t do, if you want me to do something, you are going to have to ask,” Tord asks.

“Please,” Tom says and the sheer amount of effort he puts into forcing out the word does not leave Tord unaffected. He feels a spark in his groin and his impulse is, of course, to just indulge Tom. Because of course the impulse is always to spoil him rotten. 

“Please what?”

“Fuck,” Tom says and he can’t tell if that’s an answer to Tord’s question or him expressing frustration at the way his body seems to be betraying his own sanity right now.

“Oh, should I call Patryk and Paul back in,” Tord said casually. “You seemed to enjoy them when you found yourself in need.”

Tord can’t help it. The petty swell of jealousy that comes with knowing that other people were touching Tom, that other people had their way with him. That Tom preferred them to him. Admittedly it smarts. It’s like a knee in the groin of his ego, though he’d rather disembowel himself than admit it.

“No,” Tom groans. 

“No what?” Tord says and he pronounces the ‘t’ harshly. Tom snaps his head up and leans into Tord, eyes squeezing shut in a mixture of frustration and want.

“I want you, just you,” Tom manages to get out. With that Tord is on him, kissing, biting and finally, at last, pushing in. It feels good. Unbelievably so. Every other sensation seems to dull in contrast to the feeling of being sated in his most basic and carnal need.

Tom lets his legs slip wider and wider until he can feel strain, in an attempt to let Tord push deeper into him. He loses track of time, it weirdly slows to a craw and what feels like a half hour but is in reality a couple minutes.

Tord kisses his neck wetly and then bites down and the shock runs through Tom’s body as he feels his perception of the world stutter. He feels confusion, and euphoria, and pain all at once and he can’t tell if he is grateful or enraged, but regardless of his wash of emotions he cums and feels himself going limp and lose.

Tord of course is not done, because when is Tord ever done with him? He pushes the swell of his knot in and they are locked together.

Tom can feel the heat of Tord’s chest on his and he can feel the hard press of the desk into his back and his thoughts are coming together slowly but gaining momentum.

He looks up at Tord’s face and it is so familiar and yet so alien. Snippets of moments far back in time hit him like physical punches and he finds himself wanting to cringe away from this entire situation, finds himself lost in the current reality that he didn’t see ever coming to fruition.

A long time ago he had acknowledged that if things could ever go back to the way they were, the person he had viewed Tord as could not be repaired. Tom stares up at him a long moment face expressionless and he sees Tord staring back down at him with a tender sort of smile. Love, compassion, wistfulness. He can’t reflect it.

A wave, a rush, an incoming flood of exhaustion wipes the slate of Tom’s mind clean as he passes out.

Even that though, is not without substance.

In the looming void of black he feels weightless, like a single bit of plankton in the wide dark sea of his own consciousness, when a sweep of water, a wave, a swell comes by he feels no fear, no terror at the raw crushing power he has been swept up into.

He is, at his very core, broken down to pure elements and these things cannot be further broken down, there is nothing left to gain or lose.

He merely rides out the impact, feeling himself rotating, flipping in every direction as the wave rolls in and then settles down again, placid and unassuming.

Tom comes to with Tord inside him. He pulls back and finds himself able to get him out. He lets out a sigh of relief. Tord is still asleep. Tom finds a plate of food left by the door and without further ado, helps himself. He is sure it was made for two people but he hasn’t eaten in what feels like a week so he easily finishes off the plate.

His eyes dart around the room. He doesn’t see anything he can use as a weapon and he gets the idea that if he opens the door he will quickly be met with the muzzle of a gun or end of a baton. He looks at the window. No way in hell. If his orientation has got him right, they’re on something like the third or fourth level and he is not well off enough physically to make it out in one piece.

Tom sighs deeply and thinks about crawling back into bed but the idea of getting in closer to Tord makes him want to retch so instead he drops the plate. It shatters and Tord is jolting up in bed. Tom looks at him guiltily and starts to pick up the pieces.

“Sorry it was an accident,” he says.

“It’s fine,” Tord says rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “Don’t touch that you’ll cut yourself. Come here.”  
Tom puts the pieces down and comes over to Tord. Tord pulls him into a good morning kiss and Tom allows himself to enjoy it. They separate and Tord looks at him with a dopey sort of smile he remembers all too well.

“Don’t tell me after all this you’re getting lovestruck again,” Tom says jokingly.

“You have no idea, I wanted to pull you out of that cell the moment you got here but I know you and your tendencies so I figured I would give it a bit. It was worth the wait,” Tord says and he leans in for a kiss again. Tom obliges him. 

When they separate Tom says, “You stink. Not in the sexy way either.”

Tord laughs, “Alright, alright, want to join me in the shower?”

Tom throws him a sly smile, “Why so you can get me even more dirty?”

Tord waggles his eyebrows, “Perhaps.”

Tom laughs. But he follows Tord. Slowly Tord starts to undress with his back to him. Tom merely hops on the counter and watches. He is wearing only his boxers so he just sits back as Tord takes off his shirt then starts working on the intricate procedure of detaching his robotic arm. He bends over as he is pulling down his boxers and when he stands up he is met with a shard of ceramic poking him in the jugular.

“Ah. I guess I should have expected this,” Tord said and although he can’t see his face Tom can hear the melancholy in his voice. He tells himself this is Tord. Tord has his acts. His acts are convincing and if he believes them he is never going to make it out.

“Yeah. You should have.”

“It was nice though, even just for a night?” He thinks Tord wants it to come out as a statement of fact but he doesn’t quite nail not turning it into a question mark at the end.

“It was,” Tom cedes. Tom moves Tord’s arm to him with his foot and then wedges it under it and swiftly shoves Tord forward towards the toilet as he bends down to grab the arm. He knows roughly how to trigger it thanks to spy intel from Matt’s sector.

Tord turns around to face Tom aiming it at him.

“So. What are you waiting for? Shoot me,” Tord says and there he is, boxers around his ankles, scarring all over his body, one arm, one eye. God fucking damn it.

“The day I kill you with your dick out and fulfill half your wet dreams is the day Edd stops drinking cola,” Tom snorts. “I’ll tell you what. I am going to handcuff you to the toilet pipe. You are going to show me whatever back access out of here you have, because I know you and I know you have one. And I am going to be allowed to clear your airspace before you send someone after. Got it?”

He apparently gets it because ten minutes later Tom has him cuff himself to the piping behind the toilet and he has the keypad code to a panel behind the nightstand. Can he call it or what?

Tom turns to go.

“I’ll see you again,” Tord calls.

Tom looks back over his shoulder, “Yeah? You’ll be in my cell next time you do, watch it, esteemed Red Leader. You have some of my men, and I don’t leave people behind.”

He wishes he had a camera because there is no way in hell Edd or Matt are going to believe this but he still likes to imagine their faces if they did.

Tom keys in the code. At first, other than hearing a thunk come from somewhere in the room, Tom thinks nothing has happened. Then he looks behind him to see a rug on the floor raised a little higher than normal. He tosses it aside and is greeted with a blast proof door covered in wood paneling.

Well. Here we are.

He is coming back. He is coming back to tear this shitty base apart brick by brick and drag Laurel and everyone else out in one piece and put Tord, Pat, Paul and the rest on trial for everything. He tries to frame what exactly “everything” is, but it hits him in a wash that has him visibly wincing and stowing away the memories for later parsing,

Not now. There will be time to sort things out later.

But for now? He’s got to run. He has got to run because he is pretty sure Tord is going to be after his ass as soon as he feels he’s given him a fair enough head start.

Tom knows. As he is trailing his hand along the dark tunnel, unsure of where it will lead him but sure that it goes somewhere he wants to be, he is hit with the fact he knows. Tord could have screamed bloody murder, called the guards, probably took him down from behind, disarmed him and drowned him in the toilet if he wanted to.

But he knows why he didn’t and maybe that’s why there is such a rotting pit in his stomach right now and why this doesn’t really taste like victory yet and he knows it won’t until it’s Tord’s turn to be in the cell.

Tom is going to make him regret this favor. Watch him. He exits the tunnel and in the dying light of day he takes out Tord’s comm and uses it to scan for other channels. He hooks on to a certain signal playing nothing but white noise. He knows in reality though, someone is listening.

By the time the sun is dipping over the mountains Tom is making his way through the woods and at last reaches a clearing where, barely visible in the long grass and the shadows of looming trees, an idling truck is waiting. Tom waves.

The door is thrown open and Matt in all his glory, wearing a brilliant purple sweater that would most definitely get him shot on the battle field, fine red hair catching the dying light of day, and years of haughty yet lovable arrogance engraved into his face, rushes over to him enveloping him in his arms.

“Tom! Ah good to see you,” he says as he releases him and then immediately grabs him by the arm and starts tugging him towards the jeep, chatting him up all the way.

“We haven’t heard from you in months, we assumed you were POW but until you helped release some of our guys we had no clue this place was even here or that you were still alive. Edd knew from the stories that it could only be you and so we immediately started working on a way to get you out but looks like you more than beat us to the punch.”

They get in the car and Matt starts it and they are flying away down a barely visible dirt path. The evening is quickly dying but Matt doesn’t bother turning on their lights for risk of giving away their position. Instead he continues to talk as they bounce and bump violently over rocks and pebbles.

He pauses his rant without taking his eyes off the road once to ask, “So anyways, how are you?”

Tom smiles and closes his eyes, “Just fine.”

They’ve got to go back he knows. And face down Tord. And he will be a right bastard. And Tom may have only gotten out on a whim. But next time.

Next time he’ll be back with his friends backing him and then they’ll get to see how well Tord fares on more even footing.

Next time.


End file.
